Tim Drake: Becoming Robin
by twm2002
Summary: Tim Drake has been following Batman and Robin his entire life. When Batman becomes harsher than the Batman he's come to idolize Tim intervenes. Where it leads he doesn't know but he'll do anything in his power to help Batman stay on the right path. All that stands in that path are brutal murders that bring out the worst in the Batman and challenge Tim in ways he couldn't imagine.
1. Chapter 1

Volume One: Becoming Robin

**I'm working on my own books since I want to be an author. I want to try practicing my writing skills with something I already know and love. There's going to be some liberties here and there - comics have plenty of that. Tim is by far my favorite Robin, so this is how things would be if I were in charge of the character and the story. **

_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. _

I watch the arms of the clock on the far wall. Two-thirty grows near, and I feel uneasy. Uneasy and excited. After last week I probably should have an idea of what to expect, but I don't. I wanted to call or text about what we would be doing today. The only thing Bruce told me is to bring gym clothes. I have so many questions.

Parts of my body are still sore from last week - going up against one of Gotham's most notorious and vile men in Two-Face will do that. The bruises and stitched cuts are hidden beneath my sweatshirt and pants. Nobody notices my limp either. The butler, Mister Pennyworth, does a pretty good job I have to say. Miss Mac never noticed that anything was wrong. I've gotten good at hiding things from her and my parents - that latter part is easier since they aren't around anyway.

Last week seems like some kind of bizarre dream. Bits of memory are missing from the adrenaline rush, but I can recall the key moments: confronting Dick and Alfred with what I knew; being down in the cave when I heard about Dick and Bruce facing Two-Face; taking Jason's uniform; and Bruce telling me to meet him Monday afternoon after school. The specifics are missing, that's what makes it feel more like a dream that I still may wake up from.

The bell rings and my stomach drops. It's time to go. I gather my things off my desk, then stuff them into my backpack. My hands shake slightly and I try to realize what it is I'm going to do.

"Tim! Hey, Tim!"

I turn around and see the closest thing I have to a best friend, Ives. His glasses hang low off his bent nose. His blonde hair is a mess. The dress shirt he wears is slightly untucked. Doesn't exactly help our label as "nerds".

"Hey, Ives. What's going on?"

He falls into step beside me. Ives pushes up his glasses and weaves through the crowd. "Wondering what you're up to, of course."

"I'm, uh, just about to head to work actually." It's not a lie, not really.

"Work? When did you get a job?"

"This weekend."

"Why are you taking a job? You're filthy freaking rich, Tim!"

That grates me. It isn't the first time Ives has said something like that, something that relates to me not having problems because my family has money. I don't know if there's anything further from the truth. I have more money than I can think of, but I still have problems just like everyone else. Ives means well, but it's things like that that make me want to snap at him.

"I'm not going it for the money," I tell him harshly. He looks taken aback by my tone. Good.

"Is your dad making you take a job for responsibility?"

We step through the front doors of the school alongside dozens of other Gotham teenagers. The sky is cloudy per usual. Yellow busses line up at the half-circle in front of the flagpole.

"It doesn't matter _why_ I have a job, I have one, okay? This is what I want to do."

I'm about to step onto the bus with Ives when someone else calls my name. The difference this time is that the voice is a polite, friendly British accent. American teenagers can't fake that sound if they tried to.

Standing by a short black limousine is Alfred Pennyworth. He stands completely straight and proper. Not a strand of cloth is out of place. His black mustache is neat and his golfer hat adds to the look. With his hands clasped behind his back Alfred looks more regal than anyone I've ever seen. What type of training has this guy had?

I turn to Ives who has one foot on the first step of the bus and the other on the pavement. "I'll talk to you later, that's my ride," I say, and leave him there.

"Good afternoon, Mister Pennyworth," I greet as he opens the car door. I slip inside the back of the car. Students are staring while they pass by; I feel a little off being put on view like this.

"Simply Alfred works fine, Master Timothy. I trust you've had a good day at school?"

"Fine, I guess."

"Forgive me but that doesn't sound reassuring."

"No, I guess not," I relent. "Just a typical day, really. Nothing good or bad."

Alfred nods to himself and drives out of the school lot. He pulls onto the freeway and we start to make our way to Wayne Manor.

The silence is awkward to me. Here's a man who barely knows me driving me to his home which just so happens to be the most secretive, high-tech base in Gotham, maybe the world. I know about his employer and about him. Alfred has to have his own thoughts on the matter. If I were in his shoes, I'd be pretty pissed off about it.

I wonder if they know why I did it, why I came to them in the first place. Maybe they think it's out of arrogance? That isn't farther from the truth, but they can't know that. I told them my actual reasoning when I walked through the front doors. I don't think they bought it.

I want to make a good impression on Bruce, Alfred, and Dick. Up to this point, things seem more reckless than anything else. They aren't that way, I did plan on talking Dick into coming back as Robin, but they don't know that. I want to change that and the awkward silence.

"Mr. Pennyworth?"

"_Alfred_, Master Tim."

"Right. Alfred. May I ask you a question?"

Alfred's eyes look at me through the mirror. I shrink a little beneath the gaze. He seems kind and friendly for the most part, however, there's also more than that. It's protective, like a mother. I can get that.

"That depends, sir. Some questions are better asked to Master Bruce. Others I can answer myself."

"Do you know what I'll be doing today?" I ask.

"That is up to Master Bruce. There are unknowns that have to be clarified before you progress." His voice takes on a very serious tone. "You're an impressive young man, but there's so little we know about you. Once those are cleared up, things will progress."

"I won't say anything about this. I just...wanted to help. These past few months Batman, er, Bruce has been off the rails. He's hurting people, he's vicious. Batman is about fear and he fights, I get that. This is more than that, though. He's completely reckless, because he's missing that sidekick. I want to change that, that's all."

"Things have indeed been different since - "

"Jason died," I finish for him. "Ever since then he's not Batman. Someone has to change that. I still think Dick should be here for him."

"Master Dick has his own obligations that he has to fulfill."

"Yeah, as Nightwing," I sigh. I look out the window towards the buildings that fly by. "He's the original, it should be him."

"Just because someone is first it does not meant they are best. Master Dick has outgrown the role of Robin long ago. He's forging his own path rather than following alongside Master Bruce's. You cannot force someone back into a role or place that they've outgrown."

"That makes sense. Whoever it is, Batman has to have _someone_ by his side."

The manor comes into view. I've seen it before at parties or galas, but I've never been here outside of those circumstances. It looks more like a castle than a mansion. The stone walls that are covered in ivy obscure some of the view, but what isn't hidden is grand. The fact that Batman's base is beneath the manor still blows my mind.

Black iron gates open on their own and the car moves through. I stare wide-eyed at the large green fields, the apple trees, the long gravel driveway, and the house itself. Impressive doesn't quite seem to fit.

Standing on the front steps are two figures. I recognize both of them right away. Neither of them are speaking to one another. They're both looking right at my window. When the car rolls up to the front steps and stops I feel that shaking feeling return. Everything seems unsteady.

I open the door and step onto the gravel. Neither Bruce nor Dick move down to greet me. That can't be a good sign. They're both stoic like statues. My gut feels like it's made of the core of a dying sun. It's so heavy. Gathering my strength and will, I walk up the steps with Alfred by my side.

I don't know what to say. Dick and Bruce are right in front of me. Staring. I hold out my hand, for who I don't know. I swallow my nervousness and say, "hey. I'm here to do whatever you need."

Dick looks at Bruce who's still as impassive as ever. He shakes my hand firmly. The smile he gives me is like that of a big brother or cousin. Sure, it doesn't reach his eyes and seems forced, but the effort is there. I appreciate that.

"How's it going, Tim? Thanks for coming."

What was I going to say? No? That seems like the best way to get my ass kicked or to disappear. I'm not that dumb.

"I'm good, and no problem. I don't have much else to do."

"Your parents won't worry? If they will - "

"They aren't home," I tell him, "they're probably out in...Thailand I think. No idea when they'll be back."

"What about your maid?"

Bruce's question surprises me. I didn't think he was going to say anything at all. For a split second I wonder how he knows about Miss Mac. That only takes a split second until I remember who he is.

I shrug. "She doesn't mind if I stay out. She'll think I'm at my friend Ive's house. It's not a problem."

There's a moment of silence. I think they're digesting that 's expression remains. Dick on the other hand frowns.

"Sirs?" Alfred intervenes. "Perhaps we should move inside?"

Bruce leads us into the manor. He moves with haste into the one of the rooms upstairs. I have no time to take in the home's decorations that I'm sure would blow my mind. Seems to me that Bruce wants to get this over with in one way, shape, or form.

We step into a room with an unlit fireplace. Two couches border a coffee table that looks incredibly ornate. Judging by the decoration I'd say it's Victorian era. Bookshelves are stacked towards the ceiling. The rug is soft and expensive. It's the type of thing my mom would fawn over. French? British? Hard to tell where it comes from.

I sit first on the couch closest to the door. Bruce and Dick sit on the opposite one. I know it's for intimidation that they do that. They're experts and dealers in fear. This is going to be one of those good cop bad cop moments.

"May I get you anything to drink?" Alfred asks the three of us.

I look to Dick and Bruce. Bruce is staring right at me but Dick asks for a water. I do the same. Alfred disappears, leaving me with two of my heroes. I'm starstruck and in awe.

The moment the doors close, Bruce tells me, "start at the beginning."

"I've been following you both for my entire life," I start to say - hopefully it's not as ridiculous as it sounds. "Batman and Robin gave me someone to look up to. I took pictures of you guys when my parents were out of the country. I follow each of your cases and looked for every news story. It became my hobby.

"I found out who you really are during one of those news stories. They focused on Robin in that clip and the move he pulled - I've only ever seen it done once at Haly's Circus. That's when I knew. No one else can do that. No one has the grace or skill to do that - only an acrobat. I watched the video online hundreds of times to make sure.

"Putting the rest of the puzzle together came naturally. Richard "Dick" Grayson became Bruce Wayne's ward after….well, you know. Robin made his appearance for the first time six months later. If Dick Grayson was Robin, then Bruce Wayne had to be Batman.

"There were only a certain number of men who could be Batman. Being a vigilante of that caliber requires incredible resources, the type that even the most extraordinary have. Of course, a man like Lex Luthor could be the Batman, but he doesn't have that altruism or the drive. There's no motive there. There's also someone like Simon Stagg, but he's in that same area as Lex; no motive.

"Bruce Wayne on the other hand fits all of the categories: resources; time; and driving force. You're the richest man in the world as the CEO of Wayne Enterprises. WayneTech creates all sorts of equipment for the military, so it makes sense that you can use that as Batman. Time is what throws most people off. Bruce has to play the part of playboy to disguise traveling and time off. Those galas you throw, the balls and fundraisers, they're for appearances to distract the public from the Bat's appearances. It's an act to pretend that you're everything the Bat isn't. That leaves the driving force, a traumatic event that's life-changing, an event that forever alters your outlook on life."

Dick looks wide-eyed at me. His expression is broken, and he looks nearly lost. "You figured that out all on your own?"

"I did."

"How long?" Bruce demands.

"Since I was twelve or so."

"_Twelve_?"

I change my focus back to Dick. "I didn't have much else to do. My parents aren't home much, and I have a lot of time on my own."

"Why come forward with this now?" Dick asks. "Why not break the news to the public?"

"I can't think of any reason for that. What good does that do anyone? I may get a moment's fame and the city loses its two greatest one benefits from that. You both do too much good."

"Why come forward at all?" Bruce follows up.

How on Earth do I say what I know is the truth? How do you tell Batman that he's been too violent? I don't know if I have the confidence to say what needs to be said.

Alfred comes back with the waters and a tray of snack food. I carefully pick up a few to chew on while I think of how to phrase it. I nurse my water as well. They know I'm stalling for time, they're too smart not to.

"Tim?"

"Since...when…"

Dick sighs. He looks at Bruce, then towards his lap. "Since Jason?"

"Yeah, since Jason passed Batman has been violent. More violent than usual." I gauge his reaction and for a moment I think I see a hint of emotion. "Batman does what's necessary and nothing more. That's changed. You're taking your anger and emotions out of criminals. They aren't even Two-Face, Scarecrow, or Zsasz. The people you're beating on are run of the mill criminals. I've seen the security videos, sir, and they're brutal. You've lost that partner who keeps you inline. You don't have that conscious."

"And you believe that I'm going to cross a line," Bruce assumes.

"No, I don't. You can't deny that since there's been a Batman there's basically been a Robin. You were Batman for only a year before Dick came along. Ever since then you've had a partner. I think that Robin's as much as part of your crusade as you are. Without him you're not the same."

Bruce sits there staring at me. His eyes are narrowed and calculating. He's looking right into me. I fight the urge to shrink beneath it. I said it and I surprisingly don't regret it. He needs to know that. Dick has to know, too. If he hears that, then he can come back. Batman needs a partner, and sure, Nightwing isn't the same, but it's something.

"Tim, come on, I think Bruce has to think some things over."

I stand up and follow Dick out of the room. Where we're going I can't begin to guess, however, I get the gesture. I hit a nerve with Bruce, a strong one. Dick has to have said something similar or maybe Alfred did. He wants my words to sink in with Bruce before saying anything more. Before I shut the door I see Bruce looking back at me.


	2. Chapter 2

Dick leads me down the long hallway towards the stairs. The floors have deep maroon carpets laid over the hardwood. Whoever had that job must've been busy for a while. Every inch of the manor has some sort of decoration on it. I'm wealthy but this is a new type of rich.

We head down the stairs towards the large French doors that open up into a vast backyard. There's a shed in the far back near the brick wall that borders the yard. A garden with vegetables growing in it is only sixty or so feet to my left. A greenhouse is behind the garden for a reason I can't think of; there doesn't have to be both a garden and a greenhouse I don't think.

I fall into step beside Dick. There's that awkward air around everything. I'm in his home, and I know his secret. I'm little more than an intruder here. This is their sanctum that is now under threat. I get why they don't feel comfortable with me, but I wish they didn't think of me as a threat.

"Tim?"

"Yeah?"

As he walks, Dick asks, "why do you want to become Robin?"

My feet stop in their tracks. It's like they're cemented to the grass. My blood is heavier, pinning me to my spot in the yard of Bruce Wayne. The look Dick gives me is the same one my dad gave me when I broke a vase in the house as a kid.

"Dick, I - I _don't _want to be a Robin. I don't have the skills you, Bruce, or Jason have. I'm not cut from that cloth," I blabber.

"Tim, you put on the fought one of Gotham's most dangerous criminals. The reason for that has to be - "

"It's because Batman needs a Robin! I never said that it has to be me. You've been with the Titans, you know a ton of people who can fill that role. Without that sidekick, Batman isn't the same. I've told you both that already."

I feel irritated beyond words at has to understand what I'm trying to tell him. I don't want to be Robin, because I can't be that role. I took karate years ago, but that isn't more than a joke in this situation. Whatever x-factor this breed has in them, I don't have it.

That isn't my way of saying I don't want to be that guy. I've tasted the experience, I've had that rush. Being close to death is terrifying in so many ways, but it's so much more than I thought it was. There is a carefree aspect of it, too. I hope that death comes swiftly whenever it is, yet it isn't in that uniform. I felt a power that I never have before. I thought about Dick, about Jason and how they created that legacy. It can become an addiction if the person in the role isn't careful.

I barely notice that Dick has stopped walking. He's facing me, his hands in his jean pockets. His black hair is slightly messing and getting long; the style fits his obvious rebellious attitude.

"Bruce is grieving over the loss of his adopted son. This is how he does that. He doesn't show emotion or 'weakness'. That isn't who he is. He goes out there, beats the hell out of criminals, and comes back here. This isn't out of the ordinary."

"I respect you more than nearly anyone else, and you know him better than anyone except Mr. Penny - er, Alfred. That doesn't mean you aren't capable of overseeing or looking over trouble," I begin to explain delicately. "This isn't the same. He's dangerous for God's sake. Have you been around him much lately?"

Dick pauses. He stares me down, and I can see the answer before he says anything. Hell, I _knew _the answer. Nightwing has been operating in Bludhaven; he hasn't been around for Bruce. He doesn't know as much as he thinks he does. A quick flinch in his expression tells me all I need to know.

"It's...not your fault," I say in a terrible effort to comfort him. It's not in me right now. I'm uncomfortable, and my voice is do you say to a man not much older than me who just lost something akin to a brother? That thought never dawned on me until now.

He offers a small smile that is obviously forced. He doesn't want to talk about Jason or Bruce anymore. I can read his expression, and there are subtleties proving my point. My place isn't forcing a conversation. They're the leaders, and I'm here to give information and learn.

"This has to seem like overkill to you, huh?" Dick questions.

"Being here to answer to what I did? Not really. Makes perfect sense to be honest." I sit down on the cement wall that borders the patio and the grass. My elbows rest on my jeans. "You want to analyze the threat to the secret. You want to make sure that you can tolerate my knowing that. Anyone who knows who you two are is a potential enemy. That one person can blow up the kingdom so to speak."

The minutes are hushed. I stare at the hands on my watch, counting the minutes go by. How long will I be here? I can feel myself starting to become hungry. Homework from earlier has to get done before I read more on my detective books or work on my computer. I have a few games that I can chip away at, too.

Dick's clothes rustle as he moves over to the wall. He sits beside me, sighing heavily. I choose to focus on my watch rather than stare at him.

"Aside from Batman, what are you into, Tim?"

"What am I into?"

"Yeah," Dick says with a slight chuckle, "don't you have things you're interested in? Shows, movies, sports?"

"Not really. No one ever got me into sports as a kid. My parents are more intellectuals than the type who sit down to watch football, baseball, hockey, or whatever. Movies are fun when there are good ones out there. My friends and I go to one or two every so often, but not much. We play board games a lot, and I like to read, too."

"Board games? I love playing a good board game. What're your favorites?"

Averting my eyes, I tell him. "Dungeons and Dragons is what we play most. We...like to play RPGs."

"You say that like there's something wrong with it."

"It's nerdy. Not many kids at school find it cool or interesting. They don't know how it's more fun than it seems." My voice comes across pathetic. My hand is covering my mouth. Yeah, it can be a little embarrassing to admit I play D&D, but it does have a bad rep.

"RPG like Pokemon? Pokemon is pretty badass in my opinion. I played it all the time as a kid. Actually, I still play it." He laughs and for the first time today I see Dick smile. "You'd be surprised how fun it is to play in a group. You play?"

What do I answer first? Dungeons isn't anything like Pokemon, not by a long shot. I can try to make that point, but how can that matter? Best way to sound even more like a nerd with no social life? Explain the difference between them.

"Uh, yeah, I play. Well, I used to."

Growing up, Pokemon was fun. Ives and I played at sleepovers. Growing out of it took only a few years. Still, if it gets Dick feeling good and gives a good impression, I'm happy to talk about it.

"Here's an important question, one that really tells me about you as a person. Who did you choose as a starter?"

Even though I know the question is meant to be light-hearted, Dick looks completely serious. His eyes are freaking staring at me like I'm one of the bums he interrogates in Bludhaven. He's trying to maintain it, but his expression starts to crack. I can't help feeling better about being here.

"Isn't it obvious? Torchic."

"Ahh," he says long, drawn out, and analytically. "Not who I was hoping for."

"You were hoping for me to pick one?"

"Don't we all? You're younger, so you probably don't understand the beauty of the first generation. Squirtle is where it's at. Sorry, kid."

"The turtle? I don't think so."

Dick is about to respond when the French doors open. The handles make a distinctive metal racket that silences us both. Standing in the opening is Alfred, wearing a neutral expression that I'm beginning to think is permanent.

"Masters Dick and Timothy," he greets. "I have come to give you word that Master Bruce will be unavailable for the rest of the evening."

Dick stands up and sticks his hands back into his pockets. He puts his mask back on, our conversation forgotten. The mental state of his guardian takes precedence over a childish talk about video games.

I feel a little disappointed about that. Having someone to talk to about that and not judge too harshly is nicer than I like to admit. Dick is open about it, upfront in ways that most aren't. I can tell he wears his heart on his sleeve. Honestly like that is hard to find. For a few moments the reality of my situation was gone. Now I'm back in the shitstorm from before.

"Is he alright?"

"Physically, yes." Alfred tries to placate Dick, yet it works as well as trying to force a round peg in a square hole. "He needs time to process and think."

"When he thinks," Dick informs us darkly, "it never leads to anything good. I know what he's doing, he's thinking of ways to punish himself further for Jason. He's finding excuses to further drive himself into a dark place. Being alone isn't going to solve a thing."

Neither will going out tonight as Batman. I keep that to myself.

"I agree wholeheartedly. Our opinions aren't going to be taken into consideration; Master Bruce has locked his study's door."

"Of course he did. This is just like him, trying to do everything on his own. Doesn't he realize that you, me, and Barbara are hurting, too? We need him to be here, not shut us out!" Dick adds in disgust.

While Alfred tries to soothe Dick I sit here watching. This is like one of those times when I'm over a friend's house and their parents argue or one argues with my friend. It makes me vastly uncomfortable.

I didn't realize how deep these wounds go. As the two of them talk I realize just how cut they are. I'm an only child, so I never knew what it was like to have a brother or sister. Dick had a brother - adopted still counts to me - then lost him. I can't imagine how bad that hurts. He may be twenty-years-old, but he's still looking for the comfort of a boy. He wants a father and Bruce isn't around for him.

A yell of disgust breaks me out of my thoughts. Dick kicks over the chrome grill in his frustration. His fists are balled up and he stands there staring at the mess of metal, plastic, and glass.

"Sorry," Dick mutters through gritted teeth. "I'll clean it up."

I watch him disappear into the manor. His shoulders are hunched and he speeds into the house. Where he actually went I don't know, but I have a feeling I won't be seeing him for a couple days.

My focus shifts to Alfred who stands still. His arms remain by his side, his eyes staring at the mess in front of him. Seeing a man who usually seems so lively, so with it staring blankly is surreal. It's like Alfred's brain has left his body, a vacant shell left behind. Unsure of what to do, I move over to the grill and begin sweeping things over with my hands.

"Master Timothy, don't bother yourself with that."

"It's okay Alfred, I want to help."

He regains composure enough to place a hand on my shoulder. I stop picking up the screws and bolts to look up. Sorrow is everywhere on the older man. He looks every bit as old as he is.

"You have helped in ways you don't quite know yet. Now, let Richard come back and clean his mess. I'm more than sure it will help clear his head. If I'm not mistaken, it's about time to take you home."

I stand up and place the screws on the wall. After brushing my pants off I head off to gather my packback. Alfred is right, it is time for me to go. Figuring things out is a process the three of them have to figure out on their own. I can only do so much. They heard me out, and I can only pray that they take my advice.

"If you'll follow me, I'll be glad to drive you home."

"That's okay, Alfred." I shift my backpack on my shoulder to even out the weight of my books. "I don't mind walking. It's just down the road anyway."

"I insist."

"Really," I tell him with a smile, "it's okay. It'll give me time to think and unwind after today. I hope this isn't rude, but you should do the same. These past couple weeks can't be easy for any of you. Take some time for yourself. Comfort each other, it's easier that way. Even if Bruce doesn't need it, you and Dick do."

Alfred nods in silence. He's defeated in this short battle of wills and he knows it. Plus, the skills I learned in debate class this year serve me well. He shows me to the door and bids me goodnight. I do the same to the kind man.

My walk back home is full of thoughts about Batman, Bruce, Nightwing, and Dick. How are they going to function? I have full faith that they can pull out of it sooner or later. The thing I'm more worried about is how many people will get hurt or killed while they're suffering. The city needs them more than any other two people . Gotham needs them at one-hundred-percent all the time. I hate to think about what can happen without them. We don't need Superman, Wonder Woman, their proteges, or a team of them. None of them can do the job.

If they can't figure it out on their own, I'm starting to think that I may have to try to wake them up. In so many ways that terrifies me. In other ways, it's exciting beyond measure. Maybe Time Drake can play a small role in saving this city and its protectors.


	3. Chapter 3

I wake up the next day alone. The house is quiet since Mom and Dad aren't home, nor is Ms. Mac. Without them, the house is cold and empty - just what I'm used to.

Sleep lingers heavily on me. Homework the night before took way too long for me to finish. I got my eight hours, but there wasn't enough time to ease my mind. Normally I'd play a game or two to relax a little bit. Unfortunately for me, thoughts of Bruce, Dick, and Alfred stayed with me longer than I wanted.

Those thoughts linger throughout my shower, breakfast, and getting dressed. I wonder about their night and how bad it got. When I say that, it's not Dick or Bruce that I'm worried for.

I walk to the bus stop down the street from my house. It's a quiet morning in Gotham. The sun is shining above me, and the clouds are few and far between. Spring is definitely coming strong today. Hopefully, it's a good omen.

Other kids are waiting at the bus stop. I don't know them well, only first names. They're friendly enough that I smile to them, but that's it. None of them invite me over their houses and I never bothered either. Greetings are head nods, not conversations. It's fine that way; I only need one or two good friends.

As I wait for the bus I pull out my phone. News stories come up here and there. Not a single one has a detail about the Bat or Nightwing. They usually don't, and when they do it's in a biased light. That's why I resort to my own methods of searching for Gotham's two protectors.

My phone connects to cameras throughout Gotham. They're motion activated like hunting cameras. Each one is placed in a high-crime area mapped by yours truly. I tracked crime rates in Gotham for the past couple years and took into account historical data. Follow crime, follow Batman.

I take my seat on the school bus. I'm in the far back to prevent anyone from seeing what I'm watching and what I can do. The solo seat in the back ensures I'm alone for the entirety of the ride.

Out of the one-hundred plus cameras in the city, twelve show up on my custom app. The videos range in length from a few seconds to nearly forty-minutes. If Batman is going to continue his pattern of reckless and violent behavior, it'll be the longer video. The beatdowns are long and harsh.

A flash of movement goes across the screen. It's hard to tell who it is, but I know the man's a thug. He's reaching for a gun, dressed in all black, and his face is tattooed in...Latin symbols I think. He's just aiming his gun when something knocks it out of his hand: a batarang.

I can't help looking on in terror as Bruce pounds the man against the brick walls of the alley. I'm thankful I have headphones on because the man pleads for Bruce to stop. He rambles on about information relating to whatever case they're on. Bruce - Batman cares little if at all about that. His fists continue to fly, pounding every inch of flesh on the criminal. The beating goes on for nearly fifteen minutes. It's one of the most grotesque things I've ever seen. By the time Bruce is done, I feel sick.

"Hey, Tim."

I jump and nearly drop my phone. I snatch it off the floor, then stuff it into my jeans pocket. Ives sits across from me looking curious.

"Hey, Ives."

"You're a little jumpy this morning. What were you watching? Porn?"

"_What_? Ives, cut that out." Anger and irritation are building. I still haven't forgotten about his comment yesterday. I look to see if anyone heard him.

"I'm just joking, man, relax. What were you watching, though? Is it a secret?"

"No, you just scared me. It's for my job," I lie.

"Right. The job. What is this mysterious employer having you do?"

"Tech stuff."

"Super vague. Gimme more detail than that, Timbo. What company is it? Who's your boss?"

"It's, uh, WayneTech."

"Bull! How did you get a job there?"

"My parents know Mr. Wayne," I tell him. "When they're around, they go to his galas and events. My dad mentioned that I'm around a lot and Mr. Wayne offered to give me an internship."

"That's so damn cool! I thought you were going to work at Batburger or McDonald's."

"So what if I was? It's still a job. It teaches responsibility."

"Tim, you're the most responsible kid in the world. You don't need a job to instill that in you."

"Doesn't matter," I shoot back. "I have a job and I'm proud of it."

Truth is, it isn't a job. Hell, I don't know if anyone is going to ask me to come back. Why would they, really? I said my piece to them. I know that I can help them, but I can't see why they would ask for it. Dick has the Titans and Bruce has the Justice League. That _should_ be enough.

I say that, but I know there's an intangible that all of those superheroes don't have. At least for Bruce.

The bus drops me off at the roundabout in front of the school. Kids are walking out of their parents' cars and joining the massive herd of students that funnel into the mouth of the school. Ives is lost in the crowd and so am I. I'm trying to jostle my way up the front steps when I lose my footing and trip. A mess of limbs follows me down to the tile floor.

Notebooks, papers, and a phone are all around me. I scramble to pick them up quickly, My face is hot with embarrassment. I can hear the person gathering themselves behind me. God does this suck.

With the papers in my hand I turn around to give them to the person I ran into. She stands up and looks flustered. I can see it in her red cheeks and tousled long blond hair. She runs her hands over her green sun dress. It takes a second but her ocean blue eyes finally found me.

"I'm sorry about that," I say immediately. I hold out her things for her which she graciously takes. "I lost my footing and tripped on the stairs."

She contorts her face into a lost expression. I can't tell if she's scrutinizing me or if she disagrees with me.

"You sure? I'm a klutz at the best of times. I may have kicked your foot out from under you. Wouldn't be the first time I've done that either." She then mumbles, "not a great start to my first day."

I hand her things to her. It's none of my business, but I can't help asking, "today's your first day here?"

The girl looks up at me, her cheeks flushed. She holds her things close to her chest to make sure she doesn't drop them again.

"Yeah, I just moved here. My situation is complicated - lot of family drama, y'know. Dad isn't the greatest guy in the world. Sorry, that's probably too much information…"

"Don't worry about it. Really." I hold out my hand and introduce myself. "I'm Tim Drake."

"Stephanie Brown. Nice to meet you, Tim."

"Likewise," I tell her with a smile. I know what it's like to be new to a school. No friends, no comfortability, it blows. At the least, a friendly face can do something to ease her anxiety.

"Say, you don't know where Mrs. Santino's room is do you? I've got her first block and have no idea where to go."

"Actually, I do. It's my first class as a matter of fact." The first bell rings and I gather my own things. The herd has thinned considerably. "Want to walk there together?"

Stephanie sighs loudly. The relief is evident and I can't help feeling a little good about that. She adjusts her purple backpack on her shoulders.

"Aren't we going to be late?"

"Don't worry about it. You're new, so you won't get in trouble," I tell her.

"Yeah, but what about you, won't you get in trouble?"

"I doubt it. I've never caused trouble, never missed a class, and do well in general. Besides, I'm helping out the new kid."

"Subtle brag, huh?"

Immediately, I try to backtrack. That was a lot to say, and it probably came off way too arrogant. That's the last thing I want to be.

"No. No, that isn't how I meant it to sound," I try to explain. Stephanie quirks an eyebrow at me. "Really. I hate sounding arrogant. I don't like being, y'know, that guy."

She laughs at me. Not a cruel or sarcastic laugh, a real one. It's just quiet enough that no one else hears, but still genuine. Stephanie shakes her head, her ponytail swaying.

"I didn't think you were trying to be arrogant. I'm just poking fun at you, that's all. I think I'll probably need a friend who's smart."

"I'm sure you're plenty smart, and you'll have plenty of friends in no time."

"Nice of you to say," she says gloomy, "don't think that's true, though. Unlike you, I don't make friends easily. I'm a little loud, a little too bubbly at times, and I carry a lot of baggage."

I take another look at her. She hangs her head and looks at the tiles beneath our feet. I can see everything a girl like her might try to hide: anger; nervousness; shyness. I don't know her, but I already hate that she feels that way. Stephanie obviously wears her heart on her sleeve, so why make her feel bad about it?"

We're just reaching the door to the classroom. I can see Mrs. Santino moving about animatedly about some biology stuff. Stephanie gives a sorrowful smile and is trying to reach for the door when I stop her.

"Just before we go in, you should know that what you're saying doesn't mean much to a right friend - a good one. Everyone has something about them that they aren't proud to share. You're no different. Keep your head up, alright? Feel positive today."

She blinks once, then again. Her fingers grip the straps of her bag and taps on them. After a long, drawn-out breath Stephanie says, "thank you. Thanks...really nice of you to say. I'll keep that in mind."

"Yeah, no problem."

I open the door and the class stops what they're doing. I'm embarrassed by it, but I have a feeling Stephanie is feeling that more than I am. Mrs. Santino looks at us through her glasses, her brown eyes baring down on us.

"Sorry we're late, Mrs. Santino. I was helping a new student find the class."

"I see," she says looking at me and Stephanie. "You must be Stephanie. Welcome to biology. I trust that Tim can help you get accustomed to class."

I lead us both to the table where Ives is sitting. I sit next to him and she sits across from me. The last seat at the table is empty. Ives sends me a look, but I shake my head. The last thing I want is for her to hear some stupid comment that makes Ives or me sound like a bad choice of friends. She sounds lonely enough as it is. Thankfully, he turns around to face the whiteboard.

Class feels like it drags on, and I find myself drifting in and out of thoughts about the material and Bruce. I work on my worksheets and talk to Ives, but my mind is so far away. I can't get those thoughts and images out of my head. My hand stops writing as I slip further into my own world.

"Are you alright?"

Ives glances up at me from his worksheet, then looks to Stephanie. He snorts and leans over the table conspiratorially. "He's probably thinking about his job, Steph," he whispers and uses a nickname for her. "It's teaching him responsibility."

"You're worried about work?"

"Uh, yeah," I tell her, shaking myself out of my daze. "Just work related."

She doesn't buy it. Stephanie doesn't change her expression or say anything; she doesn't have to. The look she sends me, the blank stare says it all. Ives could care less, but somehow I know she's not going to be fooled so easily. My guess is it's because she is or was where I am. Hiding a secret from others.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Schools ends and I'm out of the building faster than ever. I skip the busses and decide to walk for a bit. Being stuck in a seat for forty-five minutes and asked a bunch of questions is too much for me. A walk offers the chance to think and be alone for a bit.

I stuff my hands in my pockets and stick in my beats. I scroll through my iTunes until I come up with the classic rock songs my dad played as I grew up. There aren't many memories I have of him being around, but the one around him playing me songs is one of the best. It's not something I talk about much; it hurts me and is embarrassing. I can't think of anyone who knows what that feels like, and I don't want to be the kid who complains about it.

Gotham High's campus becomes Gotham City fast. The transition from grass to cement is abrupt, and the few trees inside of the city's limits become towering skyscrapers. The anger and angst doesn't change, though. Every driver of every car seems to be full of righteous rage that won't be quenched until he or she reaches their destination. Even with their windows up, their yells and curses are loud enough for me to hear.

I look up and down first street for something to do. Through the ocean of men, women, and children, I see a rattled old restaurant sign for Dzerchenko's. The red, white, and dark blue paint is fading, but looks can be deceiving. I decide to stop in for an early dinner.

The bell rings overhead as I enter the restaurant. Despite the sign being beat up, the interior really isn't that bad. On the walls are paintings and pictures of castles and monuments of Eastern Europe. By the looks of it, I have to guess Poland, Belarus, or Ukraine. Judging by the name of the place, I'd say it makes sense.

"Hello," greets a gritty, aged voice. His Slavic accent is thick. "How are you today, boy?"

He's a port man with heavy jowls and thinning black hair. His beard is slightly unruly. An apron reaches halfway down his legs. I can see he's cleaning off his hands with a dirty rag, too.

"I'm doing well, sir." I step up to the wooden counter and look above him at the menu.

"What can I make you?"

"Can I...have a...Kielbasa special?"

"Sure," he says and takes the cash from me.

I sit in the corner facing the TV. Already, the smell of cooking sausage wafts through the almost empty restaurant. It smells great, and I'm glad I came here.

I look over my shoulder to make sure that the Slav didn't come out and that no other patrons come in. I pull out my phone and check the app I made to spy on Bruce. The thoughts have been grinding me all day; they're inescapable.

The cameras haven't been triggered yet. Not a single one has stirred since this morning, which isn't exactly unusual. Out of all the vigilantes in the world, two of them are known to stay inside during the day. Just my luck that it's Batman and Nightwing.

Tonight they'll be active - if not Dick, then Bruce. They need a protector to look over them, to make sure that nothing goes wrong. God only knows how bad things will get if they do make a mistake. Dick doesn't seem as likely to make one as Bruce does, but it's still weighing on me.

The Slav's footsteps warn me to his arrival. Cautiously, I put my phone on the table to not rouse the man's puts a clay bowl on the table full of steaming soup and sausage...it sounds gross, but in person it's devine.

"Thank you."

"No problem, boy." He lingers near the table. "Whatcha got there?" he asks looking at my phone.

"Just homework. I'm doing a project for biology," I lie.

"Biology, eh? Useful study. Before leaving Ukraine, I studied a little bit."

"I don't think I'm that advanced. I'm only in high school at the moment."

"Great place to start, high school. You go to the public school down the road, do you?"

"Yeah. I'm a sophomore."

"My niece goes there," he tells me. "She's a sophomore as well. Ariana Dzerchenko. Do you know her?"

"I can't say I do"

"Perhaps if you return, you will meet her. She works here after school Fridays and on the weekends."

"Yeah, that sounds great." I shake his outstretched hand and he leaves me to my food, which is excellent.

As I work on my kielbasa, I formulate a plan of attack for tonight. I'll need to recharge my phone to locate them, and I'll need to use my bike as well. Going from place to place will take a toll on my energy tomorrow, that's for sure. I know in the end it'll be worth it. Bruce and Dick will be right again or on the right path.

. . .

Night has fallen over Gotham by the time I'm able to slip past Ms. Mac. I slip through the halls like a cat. I hold my shoes in my hand until I get to the basement door. I throw them on, hop onto my bike, and slip out into the dark.

Chills shake my body. The wind is hot - a sign of the coming Summer - but I still feel cold. I've never put myself in danger like this. Being out there with hardened criminals and Gotham's most wanted...it's terrifying. I don't know how Batman and Nightwing do it. Superman, Wonder Woman, Lanterns, I get that. They have powers. A normal human, though? They have to be scared shitless on a nightly basis.

Unlike earlier in the day, the streets are completely dead. I can't see a single car or a person. That's probably for the better, too, since anyone out right now has to be up to something nefarious.

I ride my bike along the sidewalk until I get deep into the city. Skyscrapers surround my front, back, left, and right. A lone streetlight sits in the middle of the road, blinking on a timed loop. The only sounds I hear are my breathing, the bike chain, and the distant klaxons of police cars.

To my right is an empty alley that gives me the creeps. I slowly inch my way down it to see if anyone is here. I look behind the dumpster that reeks of garbage and has a stench that makes me want to throw up. Luckily, the place is empty.

"Alright Bruce, where are you tonight?"

Up in the sky above me is the Bat-symbol. Criminals near and far tremble beneath it, I know that for a fact. Gotham's protector is out here somewhere.

My app lists the cameras I have around Gotham. Three of them have alerts! The three cover a block and rooftop not far from where I am. I plug in my headphones to listen to the sounds of the video and live feed. The criminal is trembling and begging for Batman to stop. In seconds I'm on my way there.

My legs are moving as fast as they can. The chain is a blur while it goes around the gears. I'm thinking of how bad falling would hurt me. Boy would that suck.

When I reach the abandoned apartment building, I throw down the bike - hurts me to do it, however, I think it's necessary. The front doors are locked, chained from the inside. I tear off to the side of the building, and see a rusted fire escape. The bottom rung is about seven-inches above my head.

I try to reach it on my tiptoes, yet it's just out of reach. Jumping doesn't do much better. Athletics has never been a real strong suit of mine.

"Dammit!" I yell to myself.

I look up towards the roof and cease all movement. Cries echo down the side of the brick and mortar. The man cries out for help, for the beating to stop, and for mercy. The later two aren't going to happen.

"Come on, Tim. You can do this. Just. A. Little. Higher."

Rust cuts into my fingertips as my hands grab onto the bottom rung. I grit my teeth and ignore the sting that comes after each movement upward. Out of all the possible injuries to happen, this is the lightest. Infection is a big possibility; I'll have to check on that later.

I reach the roof covered in sweat and trickles of blood. Both hands are caked in scraps of metal mixed with the red liquid. My worries aren't about me, they're about the man who's twenty or so feet away. Clambering to my feet, I run over to see him.

Blood oozes out of cuts on the man's face. His left eye is swollen shut while the right is barely kept open. Yellow, purple, and blue bruises are visible in the moonlight. His right hand is weakly trying to push away the hulking man in black body armor. The left hand shakes violently in the air.

His voice is a sound I'll never forget. It sounds like his throat is ripping apart because of the screams. When someone tells me about their throat feeling like sandpaper, I finally understand what they mean. The words he tries to get out merge into each other, becoming gibberish in the process.

"Stop! Stop!" he howls, tears leaking down his cheeks. "I - I don't know anything, Batman! I don't know them - I'm not always in the alley!"

"You're lying!" Batman bellows in the man's face. "Tell me where they come from! I know they're in crime alley daily. I know that they buy drugs, and I know you know who."

"Christ, Batman, I don't know! I've gone straight months ago! I - I have a kid, a s - son to take care of now. I don' want him to see me like this."

Bruce halters for a moment, his fist frozen in the air. I don't know if the guy's words are genuine or if they're BS to get him to stop. They have an effect on Bruce, and though his face is stony, his heart must be pounding.

"Let me go, please," the man begs as he spits blood on himself. "I work to be better for myself, for my son. I'm sure you'd understand if...if you had one."

Whatever held back Bruce breaks. The dam bursts and a flurry of punches rain down on the man's chest and arms. The sound is horrific, sickening in the worst way. It has to stop.

"Batman!" I yell, but he doesn't hear me or ignores me. I run over and do my best to stop his right arm by trying to hold it up. "You'll kill him!"

Batman's fist flies into my cheek harder than I thought possible. The hit comes only inches away. It hurts like hell. He says nothing to me.

My vision swims and the left side of my face radiates. Adrenaline numbs the pain for the time being. My arms shake and struggle to keep me up. I have to get up, I have to keep going. This has to stop.

Building up courage and strength, I stand and act on instinct. Batman usually works on what's right, it's what I have to stand for now. I hurl myself at Bruce and knock him towards the corner of the roof. He slides on the gravel and I land on the cement. Whether I'm hurt or not, I have no idea.

I stand to face him, my fallen hero. My body trembles while he starts to stand up again. I'd be lying if I said I don't fear for my life.

"This isn't right," I tell him unsteadily. "You can't do this!"

"Move." The word is backed by a threat.

I swallow and my throat feels like there's a lump in my throat. I ball my fists tightly, then get into the best fighting stance I can. What would Bruce do? What would Dick do? What would Jason do? I don't have to ask myself that, I know the answer.

"No."

Bruce leaps at me, and I feel his shoulder connect with my stomach. I'm on the ground in seconds until he throws me across the cement roof. The rigid material cuts into my skin easily. I can feel the sting that comes with those scrapes.

There's no time to feel sorry about my situation, because Batman bears down on me like the devil. My hand searches for the nearest possible weapon. I find a brick and wait until he's close enough to swing. The brick connects to the side of his head, sending him to the ground.

What on Earth am I doing? My body already feels like it's falling apart. I just hit Bruce in the head with a brick. I'm supposed to be saving him dammit!

I limp over to the man. He feels broken in so many different places, but we have to go. He's unconscious and going to be no help. That doesn't matter, he needs medical attention fast.

Something sharp pierces the back of my calf. I fall to the ground, and I can't help crying out. The man drops to the roof like a sack of rocks. I collapse to my forearms, clenching my hands tight.

My left hand quakes and runs down my leg. My khakis are soaked in blood around my calf - I can feel it dripping down my face and it's on my shoulders where the man was being carried. I feel hot metal, like a knife stuck in my leg. If only that's what it was. It's a batarang.

I grit my teeth, biting my shirt tightly. I slide the weapon out of my leg and I'm surprised my teeth or jaw don't break. The area burns and becomes soaked fast. Heavy footsteps coming towards me warn me of potential injuries I hold the batarang ready to throw at him.

As if I'm a feather he moves me far from the other man with a kick to the ribs. A bone breaks, maybe two. The adrenaline running through my veins can only numb so much pain. I have to get up, I have to keep going.

I charge at Bruce, batarang in hand. I sink it into his shoulder blade right before he picks up the unconscious man. Bruce grunts, tears the weapon out of his shoulder, then throws it over the edge of the building. He picks me up one handed, and I curl up in the fetal position just in time to block a quick knee.

"Batman." My voice is thin and weak. I can feel myself starting to slip into the blackness, but I can't. Not yet. "Jason, he wouldn't want you to do this."

"What do _you_ know?"

"A lot. I know a lot about you. You're my hero - Gotham's hero. This isn't what Batman stands for, and deep down you know that. You have to stop before you kill a man. Look," he listens and looks down at the guy on the roof, "that guy is barely breathing. He needs you to get him to a hospital, and he needs you to get help. The city needs you to get help."

He says nothing.

My vision is darkening. My peripheral vision is starting to go now, and I only have enough time to tell him one last thing.

"I can help you if you let me, Batman."


	5. Chapter 5

My head throbs. My ribs are on fire. The back of my calf feels like it's falling apart. I try to reach for it, but every inch of my body protests the motion.

Instead of moving, I just lie wherever I am and listen. There's a monitor close to my head - am I in a hospital? No, I don't think so. I've been in one before, and the lighting is piercing, even with my eyes closed. This is nothing like that. It's too dark, too cold to be a hospital. I don't have a blanket on me either. That narrows things down for me.

Beside me someone stirs. Their breathing was slow a moment ago, but now it's starting to pick up. I think they were asleep up until I moved a second ago. The person is looking over me, making sure I'm okay. Another bit of information that narrows down who takes care of me.

"Easy, Tim, you'll disrupt the healing process."

I turn towards the warm, friendly voice. I open my eyelids, which is no easy feat. They feel like they were glued down. When I try to talk my voice doesn't come out, only a gross sound. I must be really screwed up.

"Here," Dick says and presses a straw up to my lips, "this is water. Your throat is going to be dry from the painkillers."

I take a sip of water. Its cool and relieves the stress on my throat and vocal chords. Simple and refreshing. When Dick takes it away I still want more.

"Thanks," I croak.

"Thanks? _Thanks_?"

My vision is really blurred. What I can make out is Dick's incredulous expression. He holds the water in one hand and the other is gripping the bed I'm on. His knuckles are a light pink from the strong hold.

"Yeah, for the water. Thanks."

"Tim, you should be pissed - furious at us! Don't you see what happened to you or did you forget?"

"No," I tell him and recall the last bits of information., "I remember trying to stop Batman from going after a guy. He would've killed him if he went any further. I had to stop him."

"Don't you realize what you could've done to yourself?" Dick's blazing blue eyes come into view. There's so many emotions in the look that it's hard to count them all.

"He wasn't going to kill me."

"How do you know that? How do you know that Bruce wasn't going to throw you off the building - intentionally or otherwise?"

"I didn't think he would I guess. We were too far onto the roof for that to happen, and judging by the distance and strength it would take to do that, I thought I had a good chance. I also didn't really think of it."

"What were you thinking about?" he demands. "If not your own life, then what?"

"I thought about saving Batman - Bruce. If I wasn't there, the man would've died. He couldn't take that for much longer. Having Bruce kill him isn't an option and never will be. I threw myself in front of him to make it stop. Did he live?"

"This has got to stop, you can't keep doing this!"

"Did the guy live, Dick?"

He shakes his head. He runs his hands through his long black hair - a tick of his when he's nervous or otherwise disrupted.

"He's fine."

"Good, that's what matters."

Dick stands up and puts both hands on my bed. He makes sure that my focus is on him and nowhere else. The glare he gives me is reminiscent of Batman's. For the first time since I've known him, Dick Grayson is trying to scare me.

"You're going to stop this. You aren't going to leap in front of punches from a grown ass man anymore. You aren't going to put your life on the line for Bruce or me. I don't care about your motives, they can't be worth your life."

"I don't mean to start a fight but look in the mirror. You put on the black and blue every night to stand up for what you believe in. If it makes you feel better, I don't want to stand in front of a gun or get my ass beaten. All I want is for Gotham to be safe and for its two protectors to be functional. That's all."

"We can get through this...daze of ours without a fifteen-year-old putting his life at risk. What would your parents think?"

"They might be worried if they cared," I state matter-of-factly. "Mom and Dad are never home enough to care about me. Hell, you just remembered my age when neither of them have. They forget my birthday. Even if I die, I have a hard time buying that they care.

"As for if you'll make it through, I don't know if you will. I've noticed that you both internalize a lot. Neither of you talk about what happened, you just try to move past it. That can work if there's some sort of change going on, too. I don't see that, though. There's just a vacancy that has to be filled.

"I don't mean to be disrespectful to Jason's memory," I continue, "he can't be replaced. He's a good kid from what it sounds like, and I followed him, too. He's a good soldier. Without him, the mission isn't on its way to be complete. Bruce _needs_ a partner by his side; a light to balance his darkness."

"I know that. It's why I'm going to be staying by his side."

"For how long, though?" I ask him and he falters. "You told me the other day, you're growing up. You're not Robin anymore, because you've outgrown the role. You're more Nightwing than you can ever be Robin again. Don't take that offensively, either. I think it's time for someone to come in and earn the place."

Dick's eyes widen. He gets what I'm getting at. When I decided upon it I don't know - in my sleep maybe - but I'm dedicating myself to be that partner.

Dick all but throws his palms on my shoulders. "You told me that you don't want it."

"I didn't, and I don't think I do. What I want is for Batman to continue succeeding. He has to have a Robin to do that, and I can't trust anyone else with that."

"He - he doesn't need a protege," Dick stammers. "Green Lantern, Wonder Woman, they don't have one!"

"Wonder Woman doesn't have one at the moment. Big difference there. Green Lantern isn't Bruce, we both know that."

A retort is forming on Dick's lips. He's trying to aim another argument at trying to dissuade me. He thinks he can do it, but I know he can't. I'm concrete on this choice. Where it's going to lead me I can't guess, I just know it has to be me.

I have to be Robin.

From the stairs that lead to the cave from the manor, Alfred appears. His presence ends or at least pauses the conversation between Dick and I. I'm grateful for the butler's appearance.

He strides over to the gourney I'm on and checks on the monitors next to me. Satisfied, he turns to Dick and I.

Alfred clears his throat and looks to Dick first. "Miss Gordon is upstairs per your request, Master Dick. If I may, she didn't seem very...pleased by it."

"Sounds right. I doubt she would be. I'll go take care of her before anything happens." He turns directly to me, glaring. "We're not done here."

After Dick goes upstairs Alfred stands at the end of the bed by my feet. He quirks an eyebrow at me. Evidently, he's interested in my exchange with his ward. Can't say I blame him; Dick did look really intent.

"He's just trying to talk me out of something," I explain.

"I'm very aware, Master Timothy," he responds loftily. "All conversations in this home are not private. I must say, I am steadfast in supporting Master Dick on this matter. The danger that comes in this line of work, the toll it takes, it's not for a young man such as yourself."

"Others have taken the pledge. I know the risks or I at least have a good idea."

Behind the bed to my left deep in the shadows, a third voice speaks out. "Tell me then," Bruce speaks authoritatively as he approaches my bed, "what supports your 'good idea' of what life is like in a mask."

Now is the moment to make my pitch. This is the first time Bruce has taken any interest in me outside of making sure his secret is protected. Nothing else in the world is going to distract him. Having this type of attention is frightening and it feels good to know he at least cares.

"Every second is dangerous, every step in the wrong direction is another step towards injury. Maybe 's not enough time to learn in the field or on the fly, because learning requires mistakes. Out there, you have to be flawless every time. Flaws and mistakes leads to someone getting hurt. I've seen it."

"When?" he demands and I can see Alfred scowl in his direction.

"When I came after you and Dick during your fight against Two-Face. I tried to make each movement after thinking, but my mistake is there. I thought too much. I got hurt because of it. I'm imperfect right now.

"Last night, when I defended the guy from you, I moved on poor instincts. I didn't think about how to stop you, I only thought about him. I know that I can't stop you, so I tried to get him the hell out of there before you made the ultimate mistake."

"And your only mistake is not being able to fight?"

I pause. "No, it's a limitation. I can think tactically and combining that with tactics is a good start. I didn't make a mistake last night," I say passionately and Alfred frowns deeply at me. "I stopped you from killing that guy, and that's a choice I'm making every time. Injuries come in this line of work, but I took that so he didn't have to."

"Sir, you can't be contemplating this!" Alfred bellows to Bruce. When Bruce doesn't respond or look to him the older man is irate. "You will not go through with this"

"You're thinking about it?" I ask Bruce.

Instead of answering, he sits in Dick's seat. He reaches into the pocket of his gray dress pants. He winces from the wound on his shoulder - the one I put there. He holds a piece of fabric in front of my eyes. I move to take it out of his grip.

He wants me to analyze it. This is a test. My body aches again, but this time I force myself to hide the weakness. My heart beats fast, the possibility of failure rearing in my head and gut.

The fabric is heavier than cotton. There are thicker strands of material making up the whitish-gray fabric. Cotton? Wool? A mix?"

"Well?"

"It's heavier than most material used to make clothes. Khaki is my guess. Did you find this recently?" He nods slightly. I run it over my sweaty fingertips again. "Doesn't make sense to wear this time of year, it's too warm. Most people don't wear anything this heavy right now, so that means it's a conscious decision to wear it. They want to wear it for a reason."

Bruce takes the cloth back, though his movement is slower. He stares at me for a long time. I don't back down in the staredown. He's thinking about it, I know he is. What else he's thinking of, I have no idea. At the very least, I think Bruce thinks he can use me. I can help him, and that's when it comes to me.

"How bad are my injuries?" I ask Alfred.

"Extensive enough to force me to keep you here for the next couple days perhaps. I've called Gotham High School to send homework to your home. A friend of yours, Ives, is to bring them there."

"As long as I'm here, I can help. After that, I can be on my way," I state.

"What you can do is rest, Master Timothy," Alfred rebutes firmly. "Come, Master Bruce, let the boy regain his health."

Bruce nods and stands, but he still has his attention on me. "Get some rest, Tim...I'm sorry for last night."

The two men make their way to the stone steps. They both walk up towards the entrance to the manor. I can't say why exactly I do it, but a thought comes to mind. I have to solidify my place here. He has to know I'm dedicated to him and the cause. If I speak to him directly, it shows I'm no coward.

"I'd do it again."

Both of them turn back to face me. My throat burns again. Speaking is a chore, an uncomfortable one at that. It's just discomfort, that's all. There'll be worse in the future if all goes well.

I detail my answer. "I'd fight you again if that's what it takes to save Batman. I'll always have that as my goal."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Five**

I wake up to the sun. It sneaks in through the windows of the room I didn't know I was put in. The bed beneath me is soft enough to cushion my body and soothe me, but firm enough I'm not swimming in the mattress.

The room is a kid's room - a teenager is more accurate I think. Posters of sports cars hang up on the wall farthest from me. There's an old calendar gathering dust with a photograph of a skyline on it. I see a few dressers on the walls, a mirror, and next to me on the nightstand is a photo album. I know I shouldn't, but I take it.

My arms shake and fight me as I move it over to my lap. The pressure irritates the stitches on the back of my calf. The bruises on my arm make me hiss. I can fight through the pain; this is nothing compared to what might be or what could be.

The title of the book is just "Memories". It's brown and leather-bound. The pages must be numbering in the hundreds. Realistically, a lot of the pages in the back are empty and the ones in the front are taken up. There's only one way to find out.

A large color photo is on the first page. Three figures look back at me, all three wearing something close to grin. Dick wears a toothy grin and his wavy black hair is shorter than it is now - this picture has to be a couple years old. In the middle is Bruce, his smirk full of pride and joy, but his emotions are trying to be kept in check. On the far right, in a striped red and green tie, a gigantic sly smile shining bright, is Jason Todd.

I stare at the now dead teenager. His eyes and his life look bright in the colors of the picture. Never has anyone looked so happy to be at the side of Dick and Bruce. The pride, slyness, and near arrogance of Jason is palpable even from where I sit.

On the second page is Jason in his suit. His gold, green, and red suit sticks out among the other vigilantes his age - doesn't hurt he's in the center, either. He has his arms around two other members of the Titans: Red Arrow and Starfire. Looks like some sort of initiation as the more well-known members are out of sight. Again, the cocky grin on his face, a trademark I guess, is the most noticeable thing about him.

The page to the right is the full roster. I know I have no right to but I'm jealous about how easily Jason fits in with the whole team. He looks so comfortable at Dick's side, even though he's trying to frown at the compassion being shown by his adopted brother. I wonder what that's like - having a brother or sister who knows exactly what you're going through and is part of the same extreme line of work. Hell, even having company like that sounds good to me.

Nightwing and Robin are in the front row of the picture that takes place in front of the tower in San Francisco. Dick has his arm around Starfire while Red Arrow is next to Robin. The rest of the first row has the black, white, and emerald Green Lantern as well as Kid Flash. In the back is the raven-haired, gorgeous Wonder Girl. To her left is Cyborg and to the right is Aqualad. All teenagers couldn't look happier.

The next picture looks more recent, couldn't have been more than two months ago which is right around the time Jason died. He's suiting up for one of the last times next to Dick, Bruce, and a red-head who I can only guess is Batgirl, Barbara Gordon. He's looking at the camera, but the other three don't notice.

I flip over the rest of the book to see Jason and Dick in their early days as crime-fighters. Some are with each other, others by themselves, and few are with Bruce. Rarely are all three together.

A knock on the door alerts me to Alfred. I put the album back on the table, then tell him to come in. To my surprise, it's not Alfred or Dick but Bruce bringing me breakfast.

He's wearing a light gray polo and black slacks. His hair is combed back in a professional manner. The dish he gives me is full of fruits, avocado, eggs, and water. Health food, probably what he eats in the morning.

I look at him expectantly. This is the first time he and I have been alone. Any sort of momentous occasion has significant meaning to Bruce, He's here for a reason, and this is another test.

"I don't know what you like to eat, so I brought most of what we have." Bruce shows no shame or embarrassment like most probably would. He could be telling the truth, but I doubt it.

"Thanks," I say and I take a slice of apple.

Bruce sits on the edge of the bed looking around the room. I eat small bits of his breakfast as he measures the situation.

"Your homework is downstairs with Alfred," he tells me to start our conversation. "He picked it up from your friends and explained to your maid that you're on a field trip for the school."

"How'd he manage to pull that off? Miss Mac is a stickler."

"From what Alfred says, she is. He fabricated the slip and explained how you had your parents sign it, then scan it back to you. He had a hell of a time convincing her."

"Alfred has to be a good actor."

Bruce almost snickers. "He is."

There's a lull in the conversation and my brain begins to turn. Bruce looks back towards the wall, and I realize he wants me to be thinking. The lull isn't just for its own sake, it's a test. I have to be realizing something and he wants to see if I can do it.

When I fell asleep it was in the cave; when I wake up it's in this room. Jason's room is my guess. The room is typical except for the photo album. No teenager keeps one when all of their pictures are on a computer or a phone. Then there's the album itself. The most recent photos are never in the front, they're in the back. Bruce wanted me to see that, but why?

I think more as he continues to sit on the edge of the bed. Why would Bruce want me to see those first? Jason in those pictures is having the time of his life. He has everything a growing teenager can want: friends; a place to fit in; and doing what he loves to do. He has the Titans, Bruce and his proteges, and growing up in a place like home. It's what he can have, but…

"You wanted me to see what I can lose," I state in my a-ha moment. "At any time I could lose someone I care about in this line of business. You want me to see who can lose me, too, but unlike Dick and Alfred, this is a warning not a deterrent."

"You have a talent to see the story beneath the story. Not many can find the distinction between the two."

"It's in the way you've gone about it," I reply. "Alfred and Dick both told me in no uncertain terms to stay out of this, but you wanted me to find this out on my own. These are my own thoughts, not directly those of someone else. My conclusions are my own, though you have given me a start. I see what I want to see."

"And this soft-handed approach is the distinction?"

"Not the approach, only what I take out of it. I don't think you would've left this for me without at least thinking I could get the message."

"I'm sorry for what happened," he tells me softly. "I - I...I'm sorry."

The way he speaks makes me thing he's uncomfortable with apologizing. There's more he wants to tell me, he just can't let the words out. I think he's so used to being right that when he's wrong Bruce doesn't know what to do.

"I accept your apology. Now, what else have you found about the cloth and your case?"

He reaches into his right pocket and withdraws a slip of paper. I take it from his hand, gritting my teeth to hide the pain. If Bruce notices, he keeps it to himself.

I read the results and recognize some of the dye used in the material. It is khaki like I said - I hide my prideful smile. The dyes are cheap and commercially available. It isn't uncommon for them to be found in t-shirts, shorts, and undergarments, but those don't make sense since all of those are lighter materials.

Further down the list are possible manufacturers - too many to narrow down the search after stopping at number twenty. There has to be a clue here, one that I'm missing that Bruce expects me to find. He thinks I can do it or else I'd be in my own bed rather than trying to pass his test.

On the back of his slip is more information. The composition of the material is listed out in percentages. The material may have felt like khaki, but it isn't. The percentage of cotton to wool is too far off. Cotton is cheaper and widely used in the patch Bruce has. Whoever made it is aiming for a discount.

"The material is cheaper than actual khakis. Whoever bought these either isn't able or willing to buy the real thing," I think out loud. "I'm thinking the retailer is a department store, maybe a costume shop? It's not like Gotham doesn't have a problem with that."

"Agreed. What do you think about this?"

In his palm is a small tape. He places it in a tape player and presses the black plastic button with his thumb. Bruce sits back to listen to it with me.

A terrible, dry voice is speaking into the recorder. Because of how close he's holding it to his mouth, it's loud. "Good evening, Mr. Terry. You probably don't remember me, I'm probably nothing more than a flea on your back, but after tonight you will."

There's a loud thud and a man, Mr. Terry, huffs in pain.

"For the record, what's your job, Mr. Terry?" The man doesn't answer, so the narrator kicks him again. In a sing-song voice, he replies, "I can't hear you."

"I'm a psychiatrist at Gotham General Hospital."

"You are, you are! What's your current project?"

"Anti-psychotic meds."

"Exactly! You're the man who's made me and my droogs who we are. The drugs have caused us to become 'civilized' as you kindly told us. What you _didn't_ tell us," the man spits venomously, "is what it would do to our brains! The anger, the impulses, all of them are out of control."

Bruce stops the tape. I'm sure whatever follows the conversation leads isn't great, and letting me hear what happens requires commitment on his part. I think part of him wants to, yet there's a major wall since it makes me a partner again, however temporary.

"Droogs," I say aloud. Where have I heard it before? I know it's familiar… "Hold on, droogs is a reference to the Kubric movie, A Clockwork Orange. I've never watched all of it, but it's on TV all the time. Sensored of course. Copycats? Inspired by the movie maybe?"

"My assumption, exactly. They attacked and paralyzed the doctor you heard, Mr. Terry. He worked on medications for his patients with psychosis. He tried to find a similar pattern to those who commit crimes at a young age and fixate on those traits. The medication was hoped to mend the patient's part of the brain where inhibitions aren't as strong."

"Guess it didn't work."

"There are plenty of issues with trial medication. We can't be sure about the cause, we're only certain about what we know."

"Right, yeah. Where do we go now? What else is there?"

"Right now," Bruce starts as he stands up from the bed, "you need to work on your homework and eat. I can handle this while you work on your responsibilities. Those are important to you."

"Are you sure? I can help you. I'm great with computers."

"When you're done with everything, I'll see if Alfred can take you to the cave. He won't be happy about it, but ignore that." He opens the door, then nods to the tray. "Eat. I'll talk to you soon."

I munch happily on the breakfast of health foods. The disgusting taste of half the food doesn't do anything to sour my mood. Bruce wants me around in one capacity at least. I can help him, and I've proven that much.


End file.
